


the exorcist didn’t teach me anything about the aftermath

by sunset_swerved



Series: sonsetcurve’s 12 days of jatpmas [8]
Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Christmas Cookies, Possession, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, poor Nick is going THROUGH it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:14:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28225965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunset_swerved/pseuds/sunset_swerved
Summary: But he hadn’t felt much like playing music lately, too caught up in the shadow feeling of not being able to control his own body and watchingHimlive Nick’s life.He was supposed to do a performance, himself. A guitar thing, probably, was what he had planned when they first started talking about it last March. Mrs. Harrison had always liked his solos, said they hadspirit.He couldn’t even think about havingspiritsnow.
Relationships: Julie Molina & Nick
Series: sonsetcurve’s 12 days of jatpmas [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056728
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	the exorcist didn’t teach me anything about the aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> For day 8 of sonsetcurve’s holiday thing! The prompt was Christmas cookies. They’re there, I promise. Poor Nick deserves the world. Hope you enjoy!

There was something oddly relaxing to Nick about watching Mr. Brunson clean. Los Feliz High School’s janitor had been around for ages and knew all the kids by name, but everything he did was so methodical that Nick, who had just been through the biggest upheaval in his admittedly young life that he couldn’t tell anyone about, was relaxed watching him go from side to side. Anything was better than the sharp fog that he felt like he had spent the past eight months in.

Who knew that you could get PTSD from being possessed by a ghost?

Nick flinched as the bell rang, wondering why they even had the bell system going for the Winter Showcase when there weren’t actual classes. It was a huge event that took place every year, drawing all sorts of attention to the different programs the school had to offer outside of its “academic excellence” (because he knew all too well that they didn’t mean the disaster of the sports program.) All the music kids gave a performance, the dance classes had elaborate routines that they had started as soon as the last Winter Showcase ended, and there was an art gallery set up for all the art kids. It was usually his favorite time of the year.

But he hadn’t felt much like playing music lately, too caught up in the shadow feeling of not being able to control his own body and watching  _ Him _ live  _ Nick’s  _ life.

He was supposed to do a performance, himself. A guitar thing, probably, was what he had planned when they first started talking about it last March. Mrs. Harrison had always liked his solos, said they had  _ spirit _ .

He couldn’t even think about having  _ spirits _ now.

But he couldn’t, had actually pulled out a couple of months ago when he couldn’t make his fingers move right on his fretboard, still trying to get the phantom ( _ no _ ) image of  _ Him _ controlling his hands, painting his nails and wearing decorative rings that were older than his grandparents and running them through Julie’s hair when-

Nick took a shuddering breath, feeling like he was spiraling as he stood in the hallway and watched the janitor clean.

He was close to losing his spot in the program and he didn’t have the excuse of losing a parent. No, he was just slowly losing himself.

What had his life become?

Frustrated, Nick ran a hand down his face as the fading sounds of one of the drum groups ended and the entire audience bursting into applause. 

“Hey Nick,” a voice said, softly, from behind.

He tensed, for a second, before sighing and slowly turning around. His movements had been slow, since.  _ He _ had always been very fast, snappy - as  _ He  _ called it.  _ “That’s show biz, Nicholas.” _

Nick’s head started to pound.

“Hey Molina,” he replied, forcing a wry smile on his face even when he felt like his throat was closing and full of cotton and his head was about to burst. “You guys were great.”

His… friend and classmate and music buddy and all around  _ savior _ when she (and her band, and her best friend, and his ex-girlfriend) busted down the door to the club and saved him, smiled softly at him, holding a small, gift bag. She bit her lip, nervously, before slowly walking towards him. 

(He could count the beats in her walk and just  _ knew _ that they’d go well to a song written 80 years before he was even born and the image of feathers flying and rhinestoned tights and  _ purple velvet  _ made him dry heave.)

“I didn’t see you after,” Julie said, softly. He could hear the slight whistle from the gap in her teeth. “But I made these for you! Well, we did - the band that is.”

She handed him the small bag and Nick took it, delicately, making sure that their hands didn’t touch because it would bring back all the  _ cotton and gauze and metronome tiktiktiktiking _ . 

Julie quickly pulled pack, pushing her hair behind her ears as he looked inside the bag.

Christmas cookies.

Sugar cookies cut into Christmas shapes. Reindeer, a tree, even a snowman. They were all decorated lovingly, if a little messily, and Nick forced, what he hoped, was a grateful smile on his face.

“Thanks,” he said. “This means a lot.”

Julie smiled at him, small but it still lit up her entire face and he remembered the days when getting a smile or a laugh from her meant everything to him because she was the sun and he-

“If you need anything, you know you can let me know, right?” She asked, haltingly.

Nick shook his head, clearing his thoughts as if the simple action would be enough to get rid of the fog that  _ He _ had left and still hadn’t disappeared.

“I know,” he replied. “Thank you, again.”

“No problem at all,” she said.

The two of them stood, silent, for a minute as Mr. Brunson continued to mop.

“Oh hey,” he said. “I actually do have a question.”

“Shoot,” Julie replied, looking eager and happy to help which made his tongue click against his teeth and he almost bit it to stop the action.

He took a deep breath. “Can you… can you see other ghosts? Outside of your band?”

Julie looked shocked, for a moment, before shaking her head. “No, not really. Only if they have a strong emotional connection to the band. Why?”

“No reason,” Nick replied. He forced the biggest smile yet on his face. “See you around, Molina. Thanks for the cookies.”

She waved goodbye and turned to walk away, back to her family that understood and her undead band that had her back.

Nick turned back to watch Mr. Brunson mop, trying to forget that he died three weeks ago.


End file.
